


Dollface

by PomeranianCorgiMix



Category: Twisted Metal (Video Games)
Genre: Darkside - Freeform, Decay, Gen, Horror, Mask, Scary, abandoned houses, face - Freeform, houses, knife, semi, semi truck, truck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9839729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PomeranianCorgiMix/pseuds/PomeranianCorgiMix
Summary: A poor, frightened boy encounters a mysterious, dark clad person in a semi truck and is running for his life. Who is this truck driver, and what does he/she want from him? The answer lies in Chapter 1 of this story.





	

       A young boy walked through a dark, desolate neighborhood. He glanced in every possible direction in anticipation of whatever would come his way. To his left lay a row of houses in poor condition; many of the doors were boarded up with cardboard, some windows were smashed, graffiti ranging from harmless murals to gang symbols and hate speech replaced some of the homes' chipped paint, and the houses just looked insufficient for even a temporary stay. To the boy's right lay a small field between him and an alleyway with a sign reading "Community Garden." However, abandoned tires, discarded wrappers, and syringes were in bloom, with the few existing flowers being discolored and wilted, malnourished and on the verge of death. Behind him: nothing but rows of decrepit houses.  
    On the surface, it was a relief that he was in complete solitude. No serial killers, no vicious dogs, not even disembodied eyes in a shadowy background were watching him. But when the surface revealed its depths, he was far away from a neighborhood remotely hospitable, and no one was there to console the frightened boy. By the looks of things, the boy would probably starve before anyone could harm him.  
    As the boy made his way through the neighborhood, the silence was broken by the roar of a rusty jet-black semi truck rounding the corner. The behemoth squeezed itself through the empty road as it advanced towards his location. He gulped, his heart seemed like it was going to beat out his chest, and he stood paralyzed with fear, but still remained hopeful that the driver would help him. When the truck stopped next to him, he quietly tried to piece together his thoughts to make a somewhat coherent sentence, knowing that he was flirting with disaster. After all, even if he had merely asked the driver for directions, there was a chance that he/she could had led him to a one-way trip to the morgue.  
    The driver slowly turned towards him and revealed a pale, blank face staring directly at the boy with pitch black voids where the eyes should had been. The boy exchanged stares with this ominous creature, unsure of how to respond other than palpitating, abandoning his pleas for help, and suspecting that this character did not seem like a trustworthy individual. The driver still stared at him, its face unchanging and revealing nothing about its thoughts.  
    After several seconds of the stare down, the driver turned off the truck's engine. As soon as he heard the driver's door click open, he made a mad dash away from the truck and onto the alleyway. As he sprinted across the dimly lit alley, he heard footsteps behind him, their rhythm beating faster than his. The truck driver was directly behind him, enshrouded in darkness save for the pale, emotionless face and was quickly gaining on him. It was clear that his pursuer was a grown adult with longer legs, and the end of the alleyway in front of him was over a hundred feet away. The boy realized that if he continued along the alley without changing direction, the figure would catch him with no chance of escape.  
    Now forced to rely on guile instead of speed and endurance, he peered towards the houses that accompanied the garages. He noticed a particular house with the back door ajar. While the house seemed to be a promising temporary hiding spot from the pursuer, he understood that entering it was the crux of a risk-and-reward strategy. He was unsure of who exactly lived there and if the residents were currently in the building. Regardless, the boy veered left and climbed the chain-link fence that guarded the house. He was almost dispirited to discover the shady character follow suit, also climbing the chain-link fence with deftness and determination. The boy convinced himself that since the back door was open, struggling to open a locked door or even wasting time opening an unlocked, but closed door would had wasted precious seconds in a chase where every second was essential. The boy could only hope that the building was safe as he made his way towards the door.  
    Despite his desperate situation, he still found enough time to shut the door and lock it with a chain. While the black clad figure banged the door and struggled to turn the knob, the boy flipped the light switch on. The switch did not work. He would have to rely on the moon's glow for what little illumination it would provide. With the truck driver at bay, he settled for a more relaxed pace as he searched for a proper hiding spot in the dark.  
    Navigating through the house, the boy could make out little of his surroundings, but what he did see was apocalyptic. Many of the rooms barely resembled what they were intended to be, as much of the furniture was either displaced, upturned, or succumbed to an indefinite amount of neglect. He could detect gaping holes in the coarse, chipped walls, with his outstretched hands. He stumbled upon hodgepodges of disorganized junk sporadically piled up in this otherwise empty house. This house was possibly more hospitable years before, but here it looked like death, and the boy had to stay there until he knew the threat outside was gone.  
    The boy eventually discovered a wooden door that foreshadowed either solace or torment. The banging on the door from which he entered the house was replaced by the sound of kicking. He understood just how desperate his pursuer truly was to get him, and he would have to hide in this decrepit wasteland for quite some time. Leaving it up to the game of chance, he closed his eyes as shut as could be, forcefully opened the door, and prepared himself for the worst.  
    He opened his eyes. He could vaguely make out basement stairs as shadowy as the person he was trying to evade. For every second of hesitation, the kicking raised in volume, and the door halting this unknown person didn't have much structural integrity, so sinking into the abyss was the only option for him. He took brisk, but cautious steps down the rickety old stairs and was greeted with a repugnant stench that nearly destroyed his sense of smell. It was an amalgamation of the mustiness of the house mixed with the smells of roadkill and spoiled meat. As he hid in the darkest, most discreet corner he could find, he silently chided himself for choosing to hide in a disgusting basement of all places. It would had been a smarter idea if only he hid somewhere else or escaped the house from the front door with his pursuer still believing he was inside. Alas, he had to endure what lay unknown in the other stretches of the basement, the smell of decay, and the sounds of the truck driver trying to barge in.  
    Then, the sounds abruptly stopped. The boy's heart slowed to a more casual pace, and his dread was tempered with a touch of relief. Had his pursuer concluded that their efforts were all for naught? Or had they been so fatigued that they couldn't summon the energy to continue? His relief was converted to the same dread he had before. He was left all alone in a decrepit house in complete darkness and silence, and he considered the possibilities of whatever else was in store for him. All he could do was sit in the fetal position on the dingy concrete floor and bury his head into his knees with his senses rendered useless.  
    To the boy's surprise, the basement lights activated in a flash. The lights only covered his half of the basement and were dimly lit at that, but he was surprised to notice that the house did have working electricity after all. Dread then followed. Since the lights turned on, that meant he wasn't the only occupant in the house. Whoever lived there had kept the house in such a condition that neither roaches nor rats could survive, and he could not conceive a single positive quality about this neighborhood. The worst case scenario dominated his mind. Did the truck driver intentionally lure him into their own house with a slightly open back door? Was it even their house? He hoped that his pursuer just was not resilient enough to follow him into the house, or whoever turned the light on was a police officer who wanted to rescue him, the latter being an unlikely scenario.  
    Someone emerged from the darkness and revealed themselves to the boy. This was not the truck driver who was chasing him earlier. He neither had the pale, emotionless face nor the dark clothing. He was a disheveled man with a tattered, heavy leather coat, stained jeans, and some grimy, eaten away work boots. The man approached the boy like a vulture to carrion. His nose even resembled a vulture's beak. He brandished a knife covered in coagulated blood. He smiled in mock friendliness, his eyebrows slanted downwards in a stark contrast.  
    "Hello," his voice blurred the line between affability and hostility. "Do you wanna hear the sound of your final breath tonight?"  
    The man's words slithered down the boy's ears. For every step the man took to approach the boy, he raised his knife slightly higher, pointing it towards the boy's body. Wrestling the man was hopeless due to their obvious size difference, and the maniac with the knife had the terrified child cornered. The boy simply closed his eyes and tried to invoke his fondest memories to make the pain slightly more bearable. To further humiliate the boy, the truck driver from before peered through the basement window, found him, and had proven their fortitude. Were both adults in cahoots the whole time? Or had they discovered each other by chance in pursuit of a terrified, unsupervised child?  
    The boy heard the sound of glass shattering. A few seconds later, he heard the frantic sound of footsteps and a thud that vibrated across the basement. Summoning the courage to open his eyes, his mind had trouble processing what he was witnessing, a sight that made him question reality and what it entailed.  
    The truck driver had the would be killer pinned against the wall, and their face was pressed against his. They had intercepted the man's knife and was holding the tip of the knife several inches from his Adam's apple. The driver had a feminine build, and her leather outfit completely covered her body, save for the head, and was studded with spikes protruding from her shoulders and a chain across her waist. The boy could have sworn he noticed a keyhole in the back of her bob-cut.  
    "Who do you think you are, preying on innocent children?!" Her furious words almost jolted the boy off his seat.  
    "H-hey, it's n-not what it looks like," The man said, dropping his bravado with a hint of fear in his voice.  
    "You may try to harm the weak and call yourself strong, but all I know is that you're nothing but a bully! You can't defend yourself when you face someone your size!"  
    The man was reduced to a quivering wreck.  
    "Please don't hurt me!" the man sniveled. "I'll do anything for you! Just don't kill me!"  
    "Leave the boy alone, and you'll make sure I won't plunge this knife down your throat."  
    "I'll change! I'll change! Just don't hurt me and I'll behave!"  
    "Remember the Golden Rule - treat others the way you want to be treated."  
    The woman tossed the man aside like trash. Without his only means of defense, the man scurried out of the building like a cockroach with the lights suddenly turned on. She kneeled on one leg towards the boy, who was petrified at that point, and adopted a calmer, motherly tone.  
    "Are you okay? Did that man hurt you?"  
    She revealed a full frontal view of herself, and the most notable feature was her face. It resembled that of a porcelain doll. Large cracks surrounded her face, especially around her right eye hole. What appeared to be rosy cheeks were washed away and were barely visible to the boy's eye. His wide eyed, tearful expression ran opposite to her emotionless face. After attempting to elude her for so long, he slowly built up the strength to stand up to her. His emotions were channeled into an act of unbridled courage.  
    "Stay away from me! Don't think you can try to hurt me! Get out! GET OUT! GET OUT!"  
    Her voice softened into a timid, despondent tone.  
    "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you like that. All I wanted to do was keep you safe."  
    She stood up, then sat on the second lowest basement step. Even though she did not show emotion, the boy knew well that he reduced this sinister looking character to tears, and he felt ungrateful for her kindness.  


**Author's Note:**

> A remnant of a story planned for a character I grew attached to. She originated in Twisted Metal: Black, and her given name was Dollface. In this game, she was depicted as a mentally unstable, sinister looking character with a tragic backstory, a timid, broken personality, and a kind heart. I wanted to depict her after the events of Black. She vowed to punish anyone who harmed people like her, and at the very least has noble intentions. However, being locked inside a doll mask for 7 years has been a major factor in her psychosis...


End file.
